


light will come

by stellacecfair



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bruck Rumlow is awful, Bucky can see ghosts, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamscapes, Fantasy, Hurt Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Paranormal, Paranormal Investigators, Parent Steve Rogers, Past Abuse, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, references to graphic abuse here folks, the past abuse was bad just to clarify why there's a lot of warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-04-25 23:46:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14389635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellacecfair/pseuds/stellacecfair
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a detective of the paranormal who is in a rough patch when he receives a phone call from a little girl, who states that she can see monsters. Too curious to let the case go, Bucky visits the sad little apartment, and discovers far more than he expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely no idea where this concept came from, but it popped into my head one night and now I think I'm obsessed. I honestly don't think anybody will read this, but I love Steve/Bucky and the idea of this story just fascinated me to write about. This will contain (if I can even update regularly because let's be real, I have no time management skills) graphic references and mentions of domestic violence. It features supernatural/fantasy concepts.

Thirty years had taught Bucky Barnes a lot about the wicked ways of the world, namely about the importance of always being alert. Since his childhood days he had been prepared for the worst eventuality, even if everything appeared to be under a guise of peace, because there was always,  _ always  _ something worse coming. Every moment of happiness had one drop of poison within it, the tucked away truth that nobody ever wanted to acknowledge- the fact that the bad would once again return, and peace was nothing more than a temporary arrangement.

And yet, despite his insistence on ingraining that mantra in his mind,  _ always be alert, more is coming,  _ everybody needed a break eventually. It was why he had been lounging in the shade of his apartment instead of working, fanning his face as the warm late afternoon sunlight streamed into his bedroom. The sky outside was a clear blue, with not a wisp of cloud in sight. The weight of seasonal depression, something that Bucky was convinced was real, had been lifted off of the shoulders of the city, and everybody wanted a piece of the peace. Even Bucky.

Although, despite what he liked to tell himself, his lack of activity wasn’t solely due to a need for a break. In fact, his personal philosophies had quite frankly gone out of the window  a while ago. With his legs splayed out on the bed and his eyes focused lazily on the television, he was the picture of unproductivity, the poster boy for those who had no responsibilities. Lack of work could do that to a person, he thought to himself, watching the enlarged cartoon woman on screen beat her husband with a spanner. Despite vehement claims to the contrary, humans wanted _ , needed  _ work, something to keep them busy. Desperate to keep improving and fixing things lest they fall into boredom, they were constantly looking to  _ do  _ something. Bucky was no different. 

His phone had been depressingly devoid of interesting messages or calls, he lamented. Every other weekend he received messages from those who wanted to  _ hang out, travel, do something,  _ and yes, that was all fine and well, but where was the adventure? The excitement? Natasha Romanov, ballet dancer and firm realist, had once told him that his job would lead him nowhere. Bullshit, Bucky had thought. There was the potential for the world in his profession, excitement and discovery by the second, but now a seed of doubt had been planted awkwardly into his mind, threatening to sprout into a tree that got him to finally quit.

“You know what I think?” a voice rang out suddenly. It did not startle him, for he was used to the voice’s owner’s intrusive presence. Bucky lifted his head unconcernedly from his chest, glancing at the end of his bed, where Sam Wilson was sitting, his arms crossed and his expression permanently judgemental. “You need to get off your ass and start  _ looking. _ ”

The spirit of his once best friend tended to have advice that would be helpful for anybody else but Bucky. Rolling his eyes, Bucky dropped his head back against the headboard of his bed. “Bucky Barnes doesn’t  _ look  _ for work. Work comes looking for him.”

Sam shot him a flat, supremely unimpressed look that spoke volumes as to what he thought of that. After a few moments of Bucky blithely ignoring him, however, he settled for getting his point across by rolling his eyes and saying, “And when that work decides it doesn’t want to come looking anymore, you’ll just keep on waiting?”

“This metaphor is stupid,” Bucky said evasively, taking a sip of his iced drink and relishing in the refreshing sensation. When Sam continued to merely stare at him in disbelief, he blew out an aggrieved sigh. “Stop looking at me like that. If people need help then they call. I can’t just go knocking on their doors, asking, ‘excuse me, do you have something supernatural going on in here’?”

Sam’s eyebrow inched upwards. “Didn’t use to stop you. Sounds like the great Bucky Barnes is losing his touch. Stop slurping your damn drink like that, you know I don’t get thirsty anymore.”

“Aw, that’s too bad.” Bucky smacked his lips for good measure. “Leave me alone, Sam. I don’t need your good-natured lecturing, I need you to cause some havoc in somebody’s house so they can pay me to fix up the mess. No, you know what? That’s a fucking brilliant idea! Sam-?”

“ _ No.  _ That's a terrible idea and cheap even for your standards.”

“I don’t have standards. I’m a free spirit.”

Despite his flippancy, Bucky knew Sam was right, of course he was right. Bucky’s job as a detective of the paranormal had taken him to great heights in his early twenties, where he had seen aliens who made their homes in trees, had sent disgruntled spirits back to where they belonged and had held the heart of a star in his bare hand. Those had been the days where he had been called all over the place to solve mysteries, where he had been well known. And now he was resorting to, or at least thinking of resorting to cheap tricks.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Bucky said finally, when it became clear he had to say something. 

“Well, if worse comes to worse-”

“Don’t-”

“It might be time to find an actual job. Not give up the detective work,  but find something to keep you running. It’s unrealistic in this day and age to expect something as flimsy as this to keep running,” Sam said, his voice dust-dry, and yet Bucky hated how reasonable it sounded. “I’m not telling you to give up your ‘birthright’, as you like to call it. I’m telling you to get another job to get you the cash you need before you run your accounts dry.”

Bucky’s mouth tipped down in an aggrieved scowl and he scrubbed a hand through his air. The pleasant warmth of the air seemed to have become overly humid and stuffy and he could feel his skin burning, with either frustration or embarrassment at his predicament. He downed the rest of his drink to spare him the agonising process of picking a response and placed his drink on the bedstand.

“Look, I’m not trying to antagonise you. I can see that me dying didn’t stop you from thinking I’m attacking you all the time. I know you love doing what you do, and it’s killing you to have a dry period- and don’t give me that look, as if you don’t have any emotions. All I’m suggesting- and think of it as a friendly suggestion!- is that you shouldn’t keep waiting for things to come to you. Sometimes you have to get off your ass, shake off the cobwebs, pick up your spyglass and go searching.”

“I don’t use a spyglass,” Bucky mumbled. “And maybe- just maybe- there might be a miniscule chance you’re right. But don’t think I’m listening to you. I’m definitely not going to start looking for a job or anything. Because that would be  _ giving up. _ ”

Sam’s laugh took him by surprise. Rather than being mocking, however, it was fond. “Bucky Barnes. Don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more stubborn than you. Death won’t stop you, my friend, so I wonder what will.”

Bucky squinted at Sam curiously. “You know, I wish I could touch you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t twist the meaning of my words. You know what I mean. I just wanna hug you, man. I feel like your well muscled arms would guide me to the right place.” He gazed wistfully at said arms, which looked so tangible, yet he knew couldn’t be touched. “I’ll think about job-hunting. If it makes you stop trying to better me. Okay? I’m not that stubborn.”

“You’re a stupid idiot, Barnes,” Sam said, with a shake of his head. “For someone who regularly brags about his intelligence, I don’t see a very convincing display. But… I’m here for you. Maybe not physically, but spiritually. Throwing things at me doesn’t affect me, pal, I’m not tangible, you’ll have to put up with stupid puns. But anyway, rough spots don’t last forever. As long as you’re not deluding yourself, you’re doing a pretty good job. So don’t look so… grim.”

And with that, Sam vanished, presumably to let him get his rest. Bucky had to stop himself from calling out for his friend, for that would have been rather pathetic to return, to give advice, or just be present to help him. Bucky settled down on the bed, he couldn’t help but feel disgust at himself. He had changed too much for his liking, and the worst part was he didn’t know what to do about it. What had happened to the idealistic young man who had abhorred the concept of  _ conformation,  _ becoming one of those daily 9-5ers who achieved nothing worthwhile? He felt as though he had lost his meaning along the way, had become obsolete. It was a displeasing thought that made his grimace grow wider. 

The sun was dipping slightly outside the window, making the outside light pink and intimate. Bucky’s eyes settled on a point in the distance, watching a bird outside hop on top of a lamppost before soaring off to join its friends. Overall, he felt miserable. That passion, that drive had disappeared, being replaced by a sense of encroaching emptiness. He curled into himself, scrubbing a hand across his cheek. He had a rough, unshaven feel to his face, that he thought accurately depicted what he felt on the inside. Present, yet useless.

But then, a ringing sounded in the air, an almost unfamiliar sound to him. It was the sound of the phone- not his cell phone, which he carried around with him, but the  _ actual  _ phone, which he had branded the Spiritual Slayers Incorporated business phone. It was a sound that jerked him upright almost immediately, like a dog detecting an unfamiliar scent. Was that… was that the  _ work phone? _

Struck dumb by disbelief, to an almost sad degree, Bucky stumbled out of bed, tousling his own hair even though he wouldn’t actually be physically seeing anybody. The phone was continuing to ring, and he had to scramble wildly before he could even find it under the piles of paper on his  _ work  _ desk. He picked it up, holding it to his ear, anticipation thudding in his ears. Was this synchronicity? Was his call for more being answered by some generous alien deity, looking to repay a debt?

He affected a bright voice, saying, “This is Spiritual Slayers Incorporated, how can I help?”

The truth was he didn’t have an official name for his business, and the fake names he came up with probably detracted from the guise of legitimacy of his detective agency, but it was fun to say nonetheless. There was a pause as Bucky waited for a response- and then a voice spoke through the line.

“Excuse me, are you Mister Bucky Barnes?”

The voice was small and timid, most certainly belonging to a child. The excitement and shock he had been feeling took a pause in his chest, confusion leeching through the happy bubble. But Bucky beamed nonetheless, keeping his voice peppy. 

“It most certainly is, but call me Bucky, no ‘mister’ needed. How can I help you, sir, slash madam, slash other?” He cleared his throat professionally.

There was another pause, a pause that was beginning to feel increasingly tense. Bucky felt himself begin to frown, wondering what the child was calling for- maybe it was a prank call? Before he opened his mouth to enquire what they were doing, the child spoke again.

“Mister Bucky… I’m scared,” the voice whispered. Bucky’s frown deepened. “I’m scared of the monsters.”

“Monsters?” Bucky said softly into the line. 

“Monsters,” the voice said in confirmation, trembling somewhat. “There are monsters in my home, and I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared?” Bucky asked. “Are the monsters hurting you?”

“Not me. I think… I think they will hurt my daddy. ” There was an intake of breath from the other side of the line. “Mister Bucky? I saw your name in a newspaper. It said you could stop strange things, like monsters. Can you come to my apartment and stop the monsters?”

Bucky was unsure what to say, what to think. He wasn’t at all thinking he was going to disagree, but the request was strange, unlike what he was usually used to. One less open-minded might dismiss a child’s claim of monsters, but children often saw, often knew and believed in things adults couldn’t dream of. Bucky knew all too well. “Of course I’ll come. Where do you live? What’s your name? How old are you?”

“My name is Adaline,” the child responded quietly. “I’m nine. Me and my daddy live in an apartment. On Westbury Avenue. We’re on the ninth floor. Apartment 2A.”

“Right.” Bucky was sure he was sounding less than reliable, so he made sure to make his voice more firm, less bewildered. “Adaline, I don’t want you to worry. I will come and see the monsters. But can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you call me? Why did you not call the police?”

The pause this time made Bucky wondered if the little girl had hung up the phone, but then a timid whisper alerted him. “I don’t like them. They’re mean. And they don’t listen.”

Uninterested police. Nothing out of the ordinary. But the implication that the police had been hurtful toward this child cemented Bucky’s resolve, along with the prospect of a case, strange as it was. “Okay, Adaline. I will come to your household and see the monsters. You’ll be safe, okay? I’ll be on my way.”

“Thank you, Mister Bucky. Please come quickly. I’m scared… I’m scared they’ll come again.”

There was a click as the phone cut off, and Bucky was left standing in the middle of the room, half dressed and shocked. After everything he had said, he had a job. Well, not a job, but something that could turn into a job. Given to him by a frightened child, clearly looking for guidance, scared of  _ monsters-  _ whether they be paranormal or human, he did not yet know.

It was going to be an interesting night.


	2. Chapter 2

_ Dear Peggy, _

_ Hey, there, I know it’s been a long time since I last wrote to you. I’m sorry about that. Sometimes I just get so preoccupied with things, it’s insane. But I know it’s no excuse. I know you’re up there just waiting to read my missives, filled with all my deep, dark secrets. Or maybe you’re just up there laughing at them!  _

_ I’ve been doing some more painting recently. I painted the beach we went to in Italy last week. It took me a while to finish because I wanted to get the details as perfect as I could, because I mess things up a lot and I needed this one to be good. I’m actually really happy with it. It took a lot of precision and I wasn’t sure I got the sunset right, but Adaline told me to stop worrying and that it looked just like a photo. I’m sure she was just saying that to make me feel good, but honestly, I still really like the look of it. I think I’m going to do some more painting over the next few days, maybe buy a new canvas. I used a canvas for the Italy painting and it turned out well!  _

_ I think Adaline’s been doing okay. She tells me about her friends a lot and she tells me when she’s older she wants to become a marine biologist. I honestly am not quite sure how she knows what a marine biologist is,  I think it’s because she went on a school trip to the aquarium two weeks ago. She makes me laugh a lot, sometimes. And I could use a laugh, a lot of the time. The job has been kind of rocky, recently. Jasper doesn’t seem to like me and there have been rumours flying around that he might fire me. Sharon warned me to do my best around him. I didn’t know I was doing so badly, I wish somebody would just tell me what I’m doing wrong.  _

_ And some other stuff has been happening, too. I know I shouldn’t be writing about depressing stuff in these letters… but I just don’t know what to do. I keep having these nightmares about Brock, and sometimes they feel so real. I have them nearly every night and it’s like I never have a good dream anymore. They scare me, Peggy. I know he’s gone and he’s not coming back, but sometimes when I wake up I can see him standing there in the room, moving towards me until I blink and he disappears. It’s probably just an after-effect of the dream, but… Sometimes he looks so solid. Sometimes he looks so real. Once he pushed a chair out of the way to reach my bed and even when he was gone, the chair still looked as though it had been moved. _

_ I still see you, sometimes, too. It’s crazy. I miss you so much, I know that it’ll make me see things, but there are times I see you sitting on the window sill or looking at the irises and I have to blink twice to make sure you’re not there. But the thing is… I don’t know what’s real or not anymore. It sounds like I’ve lost it, doesn’t it? But once Adaline came to me telling me she saw you in her room. I don’t know what it was, she’s just a kid, maybe she was just seeing things too, but it made me feel really weird. _

_ Natasha tells me I’m losing my marbles and I think she’s right. But I don’t want that to be true. She tells me to see a therapist and now I’m really thinking about it. I just don’t know if I’d be able to afford it. What if they say I’m crazy and take me away from Adaline? What if they talk about Brock and I start getting scared again, and lose all my progress? What if they want me to talk about you? _

_ I’m sorry, Peggy, I’ll stop talking about miserable stuff, now. I think I should sign this letter off here. I hope you’re doing good up there, and you’re not getting messed around by Howard because he can be an asshole to you. I think Adaline’s awake, I’ll put her back to sleep. God, I miss you so, so much. I want to see you again. I really do. _

_ I love you, _

_ Steve  _

***

_ Dear Peggy, _

_ Sorry, sorry! I keep forgetting to write! I put out a piece of paper and a pen yesterday after I gave Adaline her bath to remind myself I needed to write to you, but it just slipped completely out of my head. You must be shaking your fist at me up there. I didn’t see the stars last night, it was so cloudy, was that you being mad at me? If it was, I’m sorry! I swear I’ll stop forgetting to write, it’s not that I’m not thinking of you, it’s just that things slip and slide out of my head.  _

_ I’ve been so busy, recently, but busy in a good way! I got a new job, and it’s been going well. I’m teaching at this pre-school around the corner. It’s been way easier for me to get to work, and way easier for me to pick up Adaline once the day’s done. The kids are great, there’s so little pressure or judgement from children. Is it a bit cowardly of me to prefer their company to adults? Adults expect a lot and children don’t expect anything. Okay, roll your eyes, Steve’s a pussy. But they’re funny and easy to deal with. Finger-painting is much more fun than paperwork. _

_ I’ve also made a new friend! His name is Scott, and he’s one of the dads who comes to pick up his kid Cassie every day. He’s really funny and friendly, and he makes all these really bad jokes you’d probably hit him for if you heard them, but they’re so bad they’re good. Do you want to hear one of them? I think it’ll make you laugh, it’s not a bad pun, I promise: _

_ A divorce lawyer was talking to Mickey Mouse. He asked, “So, Mickey, you want to divorce Minnie because… she’s extremely silly?” _

_ And Mickey said, “No, I said she was fucking Goofy.” _

_ I laughed so hard I snorted up apple juice like a little kid. I think I might’ve split a rib. But at least I split it through laughing! I really feel like things are turning around for me, Peggy. Adaline’s making new friends all the time, and Scott offered to babysit her if I was busy with PT.  Oh, and guess what! He told me his friend Luis is really into art, and he’s always giving Scott tickets to art exhibitions, so if I ever wanted to go with him I’d be welcome! I’ve always wanted to go to one of these big gallery events, and see these paintings in person. _

_ Things have been much easier to deal with! I haven’t been feeling in such a bad mood and I haven’t had a bad dream in a week. Last night I dreamed I was walking on clouds! But something weird did happen. I woke up soaking wet. Like I had been drenched in water in the middle of the night. I don’t know how it happened. _

_ I hope things are going well for you! I’ll try and write again really soon and update things. I’m feeling really high at the moment (happy high, not drug high) and I’m hoping it lasts. Things have just been really great. _

_ I love you lots, and miss you, _

_ Steve _

***

_ Peggy, _

_ Hi. How’s it going up there? I hope you’re okay. _

_ I’m not feeling so great at the moment. I don’t know why it is, but everything feels grey. It’s not like anything particularly bad has happened, I just feel kind of empty. I can get up and do things, I can chat to people, but it feels like there’s nothing in me when I do that stuff. I’m just… doing it. _

_ I had a really bad nightmare last night. It was the worst one I’ve had in ages. I dreamed about Brock again, and he killed my new friends, and told me that I wasn’t even allowed to look at anybody other than him, let alone talk to them. It wasn’t real, but it felt like I was back with him with no freedom to do anything. I woke up crying again. I’m really angry at myself. I had just recently started sleeping with the light off again but I don’t think I’ll be able to do that over the next few weeks. Why am I being so pathetic?  _

_ Adaline’s been scared because of me too. She ran into my room panting, and when I asked her what was wrong she told me something about monsters. She obviously heard me shouting out in my sleep. She slept in my bed, but it took her ages to close her eyes. She told me she didn’t want me to be alone. _

_ What am I doing to our little girl? My craziness is infecting her! I need to get some help, and I need to stop being such a scared fool. They’re just dreams. But I told you that they feel so real, it’s starting to terrify me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t want to tell Natasha, because she might get angry again and tell me to see a therapist. I don’t want to tell Scott, because I don’t want him to stop liking me and stop being my friend. _

_ I’m so sorry, Peggy. I just can’t handle things without you, it seems. You’d be really angry at me if you were still alive. I’m sorry I’m failing you like this. _

_ Steve _

***

_ Dear Peggy, _

_ I think I’ve finally lost my mind. I don’t know what to do- _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! Exam season and everything...
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter despite it's length, and that cliffhanger...? Hopefully won't keep you guys waiting for too long!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, this is badly written and probably uninteresting with dodgy pacing. Any constructive criticism is welcome! Despite this, I hope someone enjoyed this!


End file.
